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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29257917">break some bread for all my sins</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>South Park</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aged-Up Character(s), Aka Cartman Being Cartman, Angry Kyle Broflovski, Awkward Boners, Canon-Typical Behavior, Jealousy, Kyle gets his rocks off seeing Cartman in pain and hates himself for it, M/M, Sadism, Violence, and a pinch of, and also, that’s the fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:34:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,826</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29257917</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyle thought about Cartman, about the tremble in his voice, and his bloody teeth. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat, put his bag in his lap, and wondered what the fuck he did in a past life to deserve this.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kyle Broflovski/Eric Cartman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>140</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>first kyman fic! Kinda iffy on my portrayal and not even fully sure what this is, but I certainly liked writing it because it’s THE definition of self-indulgent garbage. (*･ω･)ﾉ </p><p>I hope it’s enjoyable, at the very least! I might continue it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Like most tragic events concerning Kyle Broflovski’s life, it all began with Eric Cartman. </p>
<p>Well, if you wanted to get technical, it started with Kyle’s mom scolding him about something that didn’t even <em>matter</em>. </p>
<p>He usually handled her strict mother shtick with relative ease, given how often it occurred. Half-listened to her rant about a B he’d gotten on an essay or some other academic bullshit, and then he’d get off easy with a mumbled apology. Today, for whatever reason, the patience wasn’t coming. Could have been the lack of sleep (thanks so much, Stan, Kyle really needed the hour-and-a-half phone call whining about your and Wendy’s most recent breakup.  <em>At 1 in the morning</em>.) or it could’ve been absolutely nothing, just a slow buildup of anger that weakened his tolerance to her ridiculous standards, but either way, he’d talked back. </p>
<p>“It’s not even a failing grade, why do you <em>care</em>?” Petulant and immature, no doubt, but it’d slipped out on a whim before he could reconsider. </p>
<p>It’d ended how you can imagine (her voice was shrill enough to break glass as she screamed, “<em>grounded, young man!</em>” like he was eight years old again) and his mood reflected pretty evidently on the outside as he stood at the bus stop. </p>
<p>He wouldn’t be surprised if he chipped a tooth with all this gritting. </p>
<p>Kenny, bless him, didn’t attempt to strike up a conversation. Stan had sauntered up with a “man, you won’t believe what Wendy–“ only to promptly cut himself off when he saw Kyle’s scowl, and the bags underneath his eyes. His best friend had <em>some</em> common sense, at least, and thank fuck for that. </p>
<p>Looking back, Kyle didn’t even remember what Cartman said. </p>
<p>Something antisemitic, probably, and stupid, definitely. The fatass had just marched right up to him, leaned low to get within his line of vision as Kyle glowered down at the snow. </p>
<p>He’d smirked, opened his mouth, and the next thing Kyle knew, his clenched fist was cracking against Cartman’s jaw. </p>
<p>He went down immediately, and yeah, Kyle had the advantage of strength and height, (many thanks to puberty for having him shoot up like a fucking tree come ninth grade and evidently skipping over Cartman, because he had a good head and a half on the fatass) but the shock of it probably didn’t help. They hadn’t physically fought since they were kids. Kyle had secretly considered himself better than that. Better than wasting that much effort on an asshole like Cartman, whose main goal <em>was</em> to get under Kyle’s skin and get him to react. 

</p>
<p>All that went out the window and then some, because Kyle didn’t stop there. Ears ringing, he straddled Cartman, right knee digging harshly into his stomach. Pried away the arms that Cartman had instinctively covered his face with, and punched him a second time, and then a third. </p>
<p>When Stan pulled him off with two arms wrapped around his middle, voice grating on Kyle’s overwhelmed senses (<em>”dude, stop, stop, I know it’s Cartman but holy shit–“</em>) he didn’t struggle. His heart was racing. 

</p>
<p>Kenny helped haul Cartman into a sitting position, mumbling something to him that Kyle couldn’t hear. </p>
<p>Cartman’s face was a goddamn mess. His nose was bleeding, and he sniffled, raised his arm to wipe at the blood with his sleeve. He might’ve been crying.</p>
<p>“What the <em>fuck</em>, Jew?” He tried to shout, but his voice gave in the middle. “I didn’t even do anything!”</p>
<p>There was blood in his teeth. Given how poor his diet and hygiene had always been, he’d been unfairly blessed in the dental department, and the way crimson stained his straight, white teeth was strangely satisfying. 

</p>
<p>The bus arrived. </p>
<p>Kyle straightened up, dusted away the bits of snow clinging to his front, adjusted his bag against his shoulder, and got on without a word. He sat in the back. </p>
<p>His fists already ached like hell. They’d most likely be bruised come tomorrow.</p>
<p>Stan got on a few seconds after, alone, and spared Kyle a concerned glance. He still ended up sitting with Wendy. Which was a good thing, actually, because–</p>
<p>Kyle had a boner. A very obvious one, straining uncomfortably against the fly of his jeans.</p>
<p><em>Adrenaline</em>, Kyle thought, <em>it’s the adrenaline</em>, because it had to be. There was no fucking way–</p>
<p>He thought about Cartman, about his probably-crying, and his bloody teeth. He fidgeted in his seat, put his bag in his lap, and wondered what the fuck he did in a past life to deserve this. 

</p>
<p>Cartman never got on the bus. Weirdly enough, neither did Kenny. </p>
<p>“He’s probably just embarrassed,” Stan said later, during lunch. Kyle’s mood had improved just enough that his best friend took a seat across from him instead of his maybe-girlfriend, chewing thoughtfully on the straw of his drink. “Yeah, you definitely, uh, kicked the shit out of him, but his pride is probably what’s really hurting right now.”</p>
<p>Eyes lingering on the table, Kyle’s lip quirked up. Maturity be damned, getting one over on Cartman would always give him a childish sort of smug satisfaction. Sue him. “Probably. Doesn’t explain why Kenny isn’t here either, though.” </p>
<p>“Uh, duh. He ditched with Cartman.”</p>
<p>Kyle’s smug expression fell. “Wh– the fuck, <em>why?</em>”</p>
<p>When he looked up, Stan had an eyebrow raised, staring across the table at him. </p>
<p>“I mean...they’re kinda best friends, dude. As close as you can get to being best friends with Cartman, at least.” He leaned back, looking somewhere over Kyle’s shoulder. Wendy must’ve walked by. He continued, voice faint with distraction, “Ken’s probably rubbing his back while he whines into a bag of cheesy poofs...or something, I dunno.”</p>
<p>Poorly-delivered joke or not, the mental image irritated Kyle. For whatever reason.  </p>
<p>“Well, that’s fucking dumb.” </p>
<p>He shoved his fork into a half-frozen green bean, chin in his palm. Cartman’s watery brown eyes, and the way his voice shook, flashed through his mind. He should probably feel bad. He didn’t. 

</p>
<p>Kyle’s hands itched.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Kyle, while beating Cartman’s ass: this better not awaken anything in me</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Still working out being comfortable with my characterization BUT I just had to add to this, because this concept is unfairly fun to write about TTwTT hopefully it’s pretty fun to read as well!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cartman showed up to the bus stop the next day and did what anyone who’d known him for literally any amount of time would predict: preserve his dumb pride by pretending nothing had happened. </p>
<p>It was a little harder to accept that as reality, considering how fucked up his face was. Kyle stared, felt Stan’s eyes on him while he did. </p>
<p>He had a split lip, an already-fading black eye that Kyle didn’t even remember causing, and a <em>godawful</em> purple-black bruise on the meat of his cheek. Kyle almost felt– not guilty, fuck that, but he nearly felt some semblance of regret until he recalled how easily Cartman bruised. </p>
<p>It was almost funny, and had a certain karma to it. God (or the universe, Kyle didn’t fucking know) really made someone that annoying, <em>that</em> bigoted and loud-mouthed, and then slapped him in a marshmallow-body with zero pain tolerance. Divine retribution, in a way. </p>
<p>In preschool, he’d whine like a goddamn baby and run to the nearest adult whenever any of them would so much as elbow him in the side, and then show off the bruise the next day like they were supposed to feel bad. </p>
<p>This was different, and Kyle probably <em>should</em> feel bad regardless, but the only emotion he could muster up when he looked at Cartman and his messed-up face was a quiet sort of fascination. The feeling unsettled him, because...</p>
<p>(<em>Don’t think about yesterday don’t think about yesterday don’t</em>–)</p>
<p>Just because. </p>
<p>“What’re you assholes so quiet for?” Cartman asked, tilt of his head and overtly curious expression both obvious cues that he was about to be a fucking idiot. “Me and Kenny interrupt your make-out sesh or something?” </p>
<p>Kyle rolled his eyes, heard Kenny give a muffled snicker through his parka because he still had the humor of a twelve-year-old. That was probably why the he and Cartman got along as well as they did.</p>
<p>“Dude, shut up.” Stan sighed. </p>
<p>“No need to get mad at me, Stan, it isn’t like we meant to walk in on you two girls scissoring, honest.” Cartman attempted to say innocently, but he broke out into a grin when Kenny cracked up again. </p>
<p>Here’s the thing. Kyle really <em>was</em> planning on dropping it and let Cartman keep what little dignity he had left, but the temptation was too much. </p>
<p>He smiled at Cartman, watched his shit-eating expression morph into genuine confusion, and then asked, “how’s your face feeling, Cartman?” </p>
<p>Cartman’s face, neck, and ears all went beet-red in a matter of seconds. </p>
<p>“Oh, fuck <em>you</em>, Jew!” </p>
<p>“Not even if you paid me.” Cue Kenny giggling while Cartman managed to get several shades redder. </p>
<p>Kyle might’ve been eating it up, just a little, and only because he could count the number of times he’d seen Cartman legitimately embarrassed on one hand. It was an interesting sight. </p>
<p>That’s all it was. Interesting. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was 2 in the goddamn <em>morning</em> and Kyle couldn’t sleep. </p>
<p>He rolled over, eyes lidded. Stared out the window. It was a cold night, but he didn’t have the will to get up and fetch an extra blanket. He was the leanest of his friend group (a miracle, considering Kenny’s dinners usually consisted of a frozen waffle and some off-brand soda) and the disadvantage of that was how easily he got cold. </p>
<p>He curled up tighter on his side, rubbed his hands together to hopefully generate some warmth.</p>
<p>(<em>He’s like a furnace</em>, Kyle thought vaguely to himself, buried underneath all that adrenaline and anger, when he’d straddled Cartman and socked him in the jaw for the second time. He didn’t just run warm, he ran fucking<em> hot</em>, even through the thick material of his coat.) </p>
<p>Kyle closed his eyes.</p>
<p>He imagined sticking his icy hands up Cartman’s shirt. It’d be warm, no doubt, wrapping his arms around his pudgy, bare middle and squeezing hard while Cartman squirmed underneath him. He’d bitch and whine the entire time, no doubt. </p>
<p>Kyle ran an unsteady hand through his hair, turned back over to face the wall. </p>
<p>He felt warmer, and he’d rather off himself than acknowledge why. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Kyle sighed, fingers stalling against the controller, as Cartman’s pudgy hand slid into his lap and grabbed a handful of <em>his</em> popcorn for what had to be the third time. Bastard thought he was being subtle, grinning innocently with a butter-stained mouth when Kyle’s narrowed gaze flitted to him, and then back to the screen. </p>
<p>His face was still bruised. Kyle avoided<br/>
focusing on it. Cartman seemed to want to do the same thing, and that was fine by him. </p>
<p>“Cartman, I swear to fucking god,” he stated calmly. “If you stick your grubby hands in my popcorn one more time, I will punt this controller out the window.” </p>
<p>“Oh, Kyle, Kyle, <em>kahlllll</em>,” Cartman drawled, hand against his chest in mock offense. “I never thought you’d singlehandedly prove stereotypes true, but here you are, in my room, eating <em>my</em> popcorn, playing <em>my</em> Xbox, and look at you! Still being a greedy Jew.”</p>
<p>He was really beginning to regret his decision to show up after Stan cancelled last-minute for Wendy and Kenny got hit by a bus that morning. Cartman got more annoying when it was only the two of them, if that was even possible.</p>
<p>“You have your own bowl!” Kyle gritted his teeth, eyes stubbornly glued to the screen, even as his character stood unmoving.</p>
<p>“Excuuuuuse me, Kyle, I thought sharing was caring–“</p>
<p>“Funny, given that I don’t care about you. Could not give less of a shit, actually, so,” Kyle spared him a glance, watched Cartman’s shit-eating grin waver, before looking back at the television screen, secretly smug. For someone who loved getting under other people’s skin, Cartman was pretty easy to annoy when you knew which button to press. “Stay the hell away from my bowl, <em>fatass</em>.”</p>
<p>“Okay, okay! Jesus.” Cartman said, making a show of leaning back with an exaggerated stretch, arms rising above his head. His shirt, part of some worn, stretched pajama set of Terrance and Phillip, hung slightly off of his left shoulder. Kyle looked away because he really didn’t need to be noticing these things. “Don’t gotta get your panties in such a twist, dude, damn.”</p>
<p>“Shut up, I’m trying to concentrate.”</p>
<p>It took six, maybe even five, seconds of pure, blessed silence before Cartman was reaching right for his popcorn once again.</p>
<p>Kyle sighed the sigh of a man truly pushed to his limit, grabbed Cartman’s wrist and squeezed with enough force to make him wince. He sat there, Cartman’s wrist in hand, until Cartman went slightly pink and unsuccessfully attempted to yank his arm back.</p>
<p>“Uh, Jew, lemme go–“</p>
<p>“No.” Kyle stated flatly. “You didn’t listen to me, so I’m not listening to you. Deal with it.”</p>
<p>The other boy stared at him, seemingly offended into silence. Just when Kyle had started to let himself relish in a rare victory, Cartman actually fucking <em>smirked</em>, looked him up and down, and said:</p>
<p>“You know, Kyle, I’m starting to think you just might <em>like</em> touching me and my hot body. I’m not into gingers, so I’m gonna have to decl–“ Kyle threw the controller so hard that it banged against the far wall, yanking Cartman closer by the arm and, ignoring his indignant squawk, leaned into his personal space to press his thumb against the dark bruise on his cheek and dig in as hard as he fucking could.</p>
<p>Cartman squirmed, and it only goaded him on, encouraged him to shove Cartman’s arm against the carpet and get in even closer, eyes alight with anger and something else entirely. Something he really didn’t want to put a label on.</p>
<p>“What the <em>Ffff</em>–“ His voice caught when Kyle ground into the bruise. “-uck, Kyle, fucking get <em>off</em> me, you fucking– <em>agh</em>, Jew!”</p>
<p>“Apologize,” the demand came out less enraged than he’d wanted, borderline breathy, even, and Kyle was so, so fucked. “Apologize, and I’ll think about it.”</p>
<p>“Suck my balls-“ Kyle twisted the arm he’d kept pinned against the floor, and Cartman groaned. “<em>Shit</em>– Ow, ow, okay, fuck, fuck, I’m sorry, Je- Kyle, I’m fucking sorry!”</p>
<p>Kyle didn’t particularly want to stop (why didn’t he want to stop?) but he knew he should. He sat back. His face was hot, and he hoped he didn’t look as red as he was imagining. He was hard, probably had been ever since he’d looked at Cartman’s stupid fucking bruised face.</p>
<p>He hunched over and tried not to think about it.</p>
<p>Popcorn was all over the floor, while his bowl laid top-down in a tragic scene that was almost poetic-looking.</p>
<p>“-Didn’t even do anything, you’re such a fuckin’ girl about this shit,” Cartman was grumbling under his breath to Kyle’s left. “Such an asshole.”</p>
<p>Kyle could’ve said <em>Takes one to know one, Cartman</em>, or <em>Like you can talk</em>, or even the eternally-handy <em>Fuck off, fatass</em>, but instead he looked him in the eye, really took the time to drink in the light brown of his irises. Debated on what to say.</p>
<p>He licked his lips, opened his mouth, “Suck <em>my</em> balls, you fat fuck.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is for Cartman you big fat white nasty smelling fat bitch why you took me off the motherfuckin schedule with your trifflin dirty white racist ass you big fat bitch oompa loompa body ass bitch I'm coming up there and I'm gonna beat the fuck out of you bitch </p>
<p>-Kyle Broflovski</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I’m a sucker for both Kenman friendship AND Kyle being jealous and petty, so have both of those things ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cartman showed up thirty minutes late to school. Kenny didn’t show up at all. </p><p>“Sick?” Stan repeated, eyebrows raised. He leaned the chair of his desk back. “Huh. Kenny doesn’t usually get sick.”</p><p>“Yeah. Wonder why that is.” Kyle muttered, only half-tuned in. Cartman kept tapping the desk, and it was distracting, not to mention annoying, and that was the only reason Kyle was staring at him and his hands. </p><p>“He’s a poor piece of shit who survives off processed food and cigarette butts. He’s had mold growing in his room since we first met him, and I’m pretty sure he’s never washed his sheets.” Cartman shrugged. The bruise on his cheek was starting to fade. “He’s built up a resistance to common sicknesses. That’s why all those trailer park, meth-headed pieces of white trash are so dangerous. Indestructibility, duh.”</p><p>Stan blinked slowly at Cartman, eyebrows furrowed, like he was actually trying to make sense of what he’d just said. Rookie mistake, really. </p><p>Kyle pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, akin more to a disappointed parent than a rival, “Cartman, you are so fucking stupid.”</p><p>“Shut up, Kyle, no one cares what you have to say,” Cartman replied conversationally. Kyle flipped him off, and Cartman returned the gesture. “As I was <em>saying</em>, despite all that, Kenny went and got a goddamn cold anyway. I hate him so much.”</p><p><em>tap tap tap tap tap</em>, went his fingers against the desk, rhythmic and quick. <em>tap tap tap tap</em>. Kyle wanted to reach over and squeeze his hand until he stopped. </p><p>“Why?” Kyle snorted. “What’s Kenny’s cold doing to inconvenience you?”</p><p>Cartman frowned at him, and oh, was that genuine irritation on his face? Kyle honed in on it, akin to a shark when the barest hint of blood dropped into the ocean. </p><p> He never said he was <em>completely</em> above it all. </p><p>“Well, for starters–“ Cartman began. </p><p>“I mean, it isn’t like you care.” Kyle interrupted, mouth lightly upturned. Mocking. “Do you?”</p><p>“No, I don’t, Jew, thank you for stating the goddamn obvious.” Cartman’s shoulders were hunched, and he glared down at his desk like a chastised student. “If you’ll do me a favor and yank that stick out of your asshole and quit interrupting me, then I’ll finish by sayi-“</p><p>“I might. It’s pretty lodged up there.”</p><p>“BY SAYING,” Cartman continued about three octaves louder. “That yes, it actually does inconvenience me, since he’s at <em>my</em> house, probably getting his poor germs all over everything.”</p><p>“Wait, your house?”  Kyle said at the same time Stan scoffed, “poor germs?”</p><p>“Yes, poor germs, you pussy.”</p><p>“I told you to quit calling me that, fatass!”</p><p>“Quit being one and I might, pussy.” </p><p>“I swear to fucking God, Cartman–“</p><p>“Why is Kenny at your house?” Kyle interrupted their idiotic back and forth, baffled. “Are you trying to get sick to stay out of school or something?”</p><p>Cartman looked at him like he was stupid. </p><p>“No? I could just skip if I didn’t want to go to school. It isn’t like my mom cares.” He said with a snort, and Kyle actually had no rebuttal to that. The closest he ever got to feeling sorry for Cartman was when his mother was mentioned. She’d loved him, enabled him, as a child, but these days she was barely around. Kyle didn’t know where she went, and he didn’t ask. Probably didn’t want to know. </p><p>“Then why’s he at your place?” Stan asked. </p><p>“God, I really do have to spell everything out for you turds.” Cartman rested his chin in his palm, rolled his eyes. “Kenny’s house doesn’t have heat.”</p><p>There was an awkward beat of silence. </p><p>“Oooookay.” Stan said slowly, head cocked. </p><p>“The hell does that have to do with it?” Kyle asked bluntly. </p><p>“He’s already sick and it’s <em>January</em>, you fucking idiots. There’s half a foot of snow outside!” He exclaimed. When he saw Kyle and Stan blink at him in delayed surprise because it sounded like Cartman actually <em>cared</em>, he shoved his hands in his coat pockets and rushed to tack on, “and I figured you didn’t exactly want to hear Kenny bitch about hypothermia either, so. You assholes are welcome.”</p><p>“Fuck off, fatass,” Kyle scowled, but it was more of an automatic response. </p><p>Stan and Cartman eventually got into an argument about something unrelated, and Kyle didn’t engage. He halfheartedly went through his bag, didn’t actually need anything out of it. His mind was elsewhere. </p><p>Cartman cared about someone that wasn’t Cartman. That should’ve been a positive realization, something to argue against the idea that he was a total and complete sociopath. Kyle should be relieved. </p><p>He wasn’t. </p><p>(He was– <em>annoyed</em>. Why was he annoyed?) </p><p>Stan said something that Kyle didn’t bother listening to, and Cartman laughed. He had dimples. </p><p>Kyle thought about grabbing him by the neck and shoving his head into a locker. </p><p> </p><p>Kenny was awake when they made it to Cartman’s place. His parka was folded at the foot of Cartman’s bed, and he lounged against the pillows with the comforter up to his waist, wrist-deep in a bag of family-sized cheesy poofs. A box of tissues sat on Cartman’s bedside drawer, looking well-used. </p><p>“Yo.” He said simply. Always did have a habit of saying less whenever his hood was off. </p><p>Cartman bitched at him for a while, something about <em>my last fuckin’ bag, you asshole</em> and <em>white trash germs</em>, but he never actually shooed Kenny out of his bed, or made him stop eating his food. </p><p>Kyle had enough decency to be ashamed at the disappointment he felt.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Cartman, standing in Kenny’s room: damn, bitch, you live like this?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I get an unnecessary amount of joy from portraying Kyle as kind of an asshole. I’m not even kidding. I laugh so much while writing because I have full creative liberty to go full DOUCHE MODE with this boy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was always cold in South Park, but today was exceptionally freezing. </p>
<p>Kyle’s breath puffed out visibly in the brittle air, and he covered his mouth with mitten-clad hands, blowing out slow, warm puffs of breath, trying to generate some heat. His nose was numb.</p>
<p>Thankfully, the trek to the movies was relatively short. That was why they’d all decided against going by car, aside from Cartman, who’d argued in favor of it, but that was just because he was a lazy piece of shit. </p>
<p>That being said, for being the heaviest of the group, Cartman somehow always ended up walking in front. </p>
<p>He was the shortest, too, because karma was actually pretty funny sometimes, standing at five feet and some extra inches that didn’t end up amounting to much. Even some of the girls, including <em>Wendy</em>, were taller than him. That meant that his legs weren’t built for the long, quick strides he was currently taking, falling in step with Kenny, muttering something that Kyle couldn’t hear. </p>
<p>Probably bitching about having to walk. </p>
<p>Maybe he felt like more of a leader if he <em>literally</em> lead. Who knows. Kyle had long given up wondering how the hell Cartman’s brain worked. </p>
<p>“She was so <em>pissed</em>, dude, and it was so out of the blue, like–“</p>
<p>Kyle stared at Cartman’s back, not because it was overtly interesting, but because anything was more interesting than Stan rambling on about Wendy next to him. This was the fourth time this week.</p>
<p>“And then she kicked me out of her room, screaming something about loyalty–“</p>
<p>Kyle loved Stan like a brother, but he could admit that he’d expect this shit from him. </p>
<p>Wendy, on the other hand.</p>
<p>Wendy was smart. Kyle knew this because he was smarter. By not as wide a margin as he’d like, maybe, because Wendy had given him a run for his money in a few exams over the years. She was smart, well-spoken, and had common sense, which didn’t seem all that impressive until you remembered that half the town didn’t have a fucking clue what that was. </p>
<p>Wendy had a good head on her shoulders, and <em>yet</em> it didn’t stop her from participating in this make up, break up bullshit that she and Stan had been doing since the third grade.</p>
<p>They were seniors now. It was getting sad. And infuriating, if you were Kyle, who was constantly being treated like a nauseating mix between Stan’s therapist and an awkward, <em>bros before hoes until Wendy forgives him</em> support system. </p>
<p>“I just don’t get her, man.” Stan sighed, like he was the one truly suffering here. “Why do girls have to be so complicated?” </p>
<p>“It’s a mystery.” Kyle responded flatly, sniffling. Goddamn, it was cold. Cartman didn’t even look bothered by it, laughing at something Kenny’d mumbled, reaching out to shove childishly at his shoulder. </p>
<p>Kyle rubbed at his own shoulder subconsciously, jaw clenched around a sudden, greater, bout of annoyance. </p>
<p>“Like,” Stan continued, because of course he did. “I’d get it if I’d, I dunno, commented something weird on Bebe’s Insta pic, but all I did was like it! Is that a crime?” </p>
<p>“No.” The withering look Kyle was giving Cartman(‘s back) was undeserved, for once. He knew that if he looked at Stan, he’d end up giving in to the urge to take him by the shoulders and shake him, because oh, holy fuck, <em>please shut the fuck up, before I punch you or Cartman or myself.</em></p>
<p>“They’re best friends, Jesus Christ, excuse me for trying to be nice to–“</p>
<p>“Stan, I swear to god,” Cartman groaned suddenly, turning around to level an exasperated glare in Stan’s direction. “I don’t even <em>like</em> the bitch, but the longer I hear you whining, the harder I’m team Wendy.”</p>
<p>Kenny rasped out a laugh, and even Kyle had to cover his mouth to hide his grin. He was only slightly disgusted at himself for finding something Cartman said funny. It <em>was</em> funny, damn it, and he was just pissed enough at Stan that someone else saying what he’d been thinking all along was pure catharsis. </p>
<p>“Why?” Stan sputtered, eyebrows drawn. “She’s the one who–“</p>
<p>“Stan.” Cartman interrupted. “I don’t give a flying fuck what she did, because none of it will matter when you two bang in a goddamn day or two like nothing ever happened.” His gaze slid over to Kyle, and he had the sudden urge to stand straighter, “You’re being fucking annoying, dude. I’m pretty sure your butt-buddy jew over there agrees, and <em>that</em> is saying something.” </p>
<p>Kyle rolled his eyes. It was still Cartman, so he didn’t know what he expected. </p>
<p>“Like you’re one to talk about being annoying, Cartman.” Stan snapped, and Kyle had a feeling the blotchy red covering his face wasn’t solely due to the cold. “Not like this is any of your business, anyway.”</p>
<p>“It is when you bitch and whine about it less than five feet behind me, you stupid hippie,” Cartman said, and he actually sounded exasperated, like he wasn’t just egging Stan on for his own amusement. Maybe this Wendy drama got to him, too. Kyle couldn’t blame him. “So, do us all a favor and shut the fuck up, and maybe we’ll get to this movie theater within the next century–“</p>
<p>That was when Cartman turned around, planning to punctuate his bitching by stomping away, probably, and went face-first into an electricity pole instead. </p>
<p>In the time it took for everyone else to process what had even happened, he’d fallen backward on his ass, a stream of muffled <em>fuck, fuck, motherfucker FUCK</em> leaving his mouth while he clutched at his nose. A hiss of pain escaped his clenched teeth. </p>
<p>Stan gaped like a fish while Kenny knelt down to help him, and Kyle. Well. </p>
<p>Kyle burst into laughter. </p>
<p>He couldn’t fucking help it, <em>really</em>, okay; after listening to Stan for the past half-hour sucked all life out of him, seeing Cartman do something as comically stupid as <em>walk into a pole</em> might have put him into mild hysterics. </p>
<p>“Oh, holy shit,” he wheezed, clutching at his stomach. “Holy fucking shit, this is the best day of my life.” </p>
<p>Kenny leveled him with a long look that made Kyle feel like a dick, but it was not enough to stop the cacophony of wheezing, hiccuping laughs coming out of him. He was going to piss himself. </p>
<p>Cartman pulled his hands away from his face to glare up at him. Kyle’s laughter dwindled and then ceased completely, because Jesus Christ, his nose was <em>gushing</em> blood. </p>
<p>“Fuck you, Jew.” is all he said, slurred and nasal thanks to his busted nose. This was easily the most humiliated Kyle had ever seen him look, jaw set in a grimace while he shakily lifted himself up from the ground, batting away Kenny’s offered hand. He swiped his wrist across his nose and mouth, and all that did was smear the blood. He was blinking a lot. </p>
<p>Kyle never responded, and didn’t break the uncomfortable silence that hovered over the rest of the walk. It probably looked like guilt, the unease in Kyle’s expression, and he was okay with that.</p>
<p>He’d prefer to let his friends think that he felt bad, considering that the truth was that he was currently sporting a half-chub in freezing temperatures because of Cartman. </p>
<p>Because of Cartman hurting himself <em>in the most fucking slapstick way imaginable.</em> God fucking help him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He had to acknowledge it eventually, if only to himself. So Kyle did.</p>
<p>Naturally, the first thing he looked into was porn. As one does. </p>
<p>Given that he didn’t want to accidentally venture into snuff or something, he used a broader term that sounded...kind of accurate.</p>
<p><em>Rough Sex</em> wasn’t exactly the same as <em>i might get off to seeing my friend/enemy in pain and instead of therapy im consulting porn</em>, but frankly, Kyle didn’t think the latter would yield many results. </p>
<p>The girl getting railed on his laptop screen was actually pretty cute. Kind of mousy, big-breasted, and wore these oversized, bulky glasses that were definitely a prop. She let out these squeaky little <em>ah! ah!</em> sounds with every thrust. </p>
<p>He may as well have been watching an infomercial, considering how disinterested he was. </p>
<p>Fourteen minutes in of nothing but poorly-acted plot followed by dime a dozen porno sex, Kyle sat there, his eyes half-mast with boredom, wondering how in the hell this had been the <em>second</em> search result. The only thing rough about this was the shoddy camera work. </p>
<p>And then the guy spat on her, and yeah, that probably classified as rough sex. </p>
<p>His dick still refused to react. Genuinely kind of zoning out at this point, he looked at the glob of saliva stuck in her hair, and suddenly, abruptly, <em>unnecessarily</em>, wondered how Cartman would react if he was spat on. </p>
<p>Kyle closed the incognito tab and shut his laptop with more force than necessary.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>@electricity pole you’re doing amazing sweetie &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Writing this was stupidly difficult, considering it’s basically just a series of essays detailing Kyle being a horny asshole. Finally sat down with the right mindset and managed to get something down that I didn’t completely despise. Yay for that!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>With how easily Cartman stumbled across a patch of snow and landed on his ass, squawking out a frustrated <em>GODDAMNIT</em>, you’d think he hadn’t grown up in a climate that was almost constantly snow-covered and icy. </p><p>Stan had the good decency to laugh behind his hand. Kyle did not. </p><p>Kenny just shook his head. </p><p>This wasn’t exactly a new thing. Cartman was clumsy. Had been since they were little, but it’d only worsened with age. </p><p>Kyle had always secretly considered it a blessing, mostly because it was funny, but also because it was one of the few things that seemed to genuinely wring embarrassment out of someone who otherwise possessed an incredible lack of tact in all areas of life. </p><p>He could loudly claim Kyle was hiding <em>Jew Gold</em> up his asshole with a straight face, in front of an entire classroom—true story, Kyle still got pissed about it if he thought about it too much— but tripping and eating shit against the pavement was the thing that got him flushed and, if Kyle was lucky, quiet. Maybe because that was out of his control, an unintentional blunder. </p><p>At least when he verbally embarrassed himself it was on purpose, something he did because he wanted to. </p><p><em>Jew Gold</em>.</p><p>God. </p><p>He still vividly remembered this one time, on the tail end of ninth grade. April was rough that year, snow and ice turning into slush and mud and puddles, because it had been raining like it was going out of style. Cartman attempted to walk through a wide, unassuming puddle that ended up somehow being over two feet deep. He’d  stumbled, caught off guard of the sudden drop-off. Kind of did an accidental belly flop in the world’s tiniest, saddest little excuse of a pool. He rose up, braced on his arms, entire front soaked and hair sticking to his forehead. An expression of  embarrassment and dumb confusion on his face.</p><p>Kyle’s stomach cramped up from all the laughing. Stan and Kenny had definitely joined in, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t the loudest. </p><p>“C’mon,” Kenny managed to say between muffled chuckles he wasn’t trying very hard to mask, bending down and holding out a hand when Cartman never moved. He just sat there and glared while the three of them lost their fucking minds. “Need help?”</p><p>Laughter aside, he seemed to mean it, but Cartman scowled anyway and got up by himself. He dripped the entire way home, looking the perfect picture of a wet, pissed-off cat, and didn’t say a word. </p><p>Good times. </p><p>He treasured that memory, more than prom, honestly. He wondered if that said something about him. </p><p>Maybe not, considering prom consisted of Kyle being forced to wear a gaudy suit his mom insisted upon, spiked-punch-drunk Bebe getting uncomfortably familiar with him on the crowded dance floor while the clean version of some Nicki Minaj song played on the speakers, and walking in on Stan and Wendy in the men’s bathroom. Cartman didn’t show and that should’ve been a relief, but it only pissed Kyle off. Bastard should’ve had to suffer along with him. That night fucking <em>blew</em>.</p><p>Anyway. </p><p>Kenny and Stan were already walking ahead, but Kyle lagged behind, half-waiting. Wasn’t sure why. </p><p>Cartman got up and dusted off his front, grumbling a slew of curses under his breath, along with something about global warming hurrying the hell up. </p><p>Kyle rolled his eyes, called him a fucking idiot, and then noticed the smattering of snow covering the back of his pants, his thighs. </p><p>“Y’know, <em>Kahl</em>, I feel like those panties of yours get more twisted by the day, I really do–“ Cartman bitched, but Kyle wasn’t particularly listening as he reached out, started swiping the bits of snow away with a hand. </p><p>He didn’t realize how fucking weird that was until Cartman noticeably quieted. He yanked his hand back. </p><p>When he looked, Cartman was staring at him. His lips were parted like he’d stopped mid-rant. Somehow, it got under Kyle’s skin just as much as if he’d laughed. </p><p>“Just...just learn to fucking walk, fatass.” He snapped, and it sounded <em>lame</em>, such a weak comeback, and they both knew it.  </p><p>“Your mom.” Cartman got out like it was automatic, but his facial expression remained stuck on the same vague confusion, like he wasn’t sure what Kyle’s angle was. Like Kyle fucking knew either. </p><p>He still didn’t laugh. Kyle almost wished he would. </p><p>Aside from the distant sounds of Stan and Kenny (mostly Stan) up ahead, an uncomfortable silence lapsed over them. Kyle stared at the snow the rest of the walk to school. </p><p>His skin prickled with the feeling of being watched.</p><p> </p><p>The thing about it was, when you desperately didn’t want to think about something, your brain only sought it out more. </p><p>At least that’s what Kyle told himself, chest heaving as he came down <em>hard</em>, because that was a much easier pill to swallow than accepting the fact that he’d just busted a nut to the mental image of Cartman in that snow, looking up at him with watery brown eyes. Blood staining his stupid fucking white teeth. </p><p>
  <em>“I didn’t even do anything!”</em>
</p><p>The sound of the shower drowned out Kyle’s half-hysterical laughter that teetered off into a mumbled, ashamed, “oh, fuck.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Kyle, showing something even remotely resembling <em>care</em> for Cartman? It’s more likely than you think.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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